Goldfish & Handgrenades
by LadyInglorion
Summary: 8 years in the future Johnny is working as an accountant for a firm in New York and sharing an apartment with Will and his autistic son. Though the drugs are gone the memories are not, but years of counseling has tried to dull the hurt. Then a chance meeting on the street destroys the stability he's been working to, and this time he's not sure he can recover, for better or worse...


"Quittin' time boys! Time to pack up! That means you too, Johnny!"

I shook myself awake, ungluing my cheek from the keyboard of my computer with a start. The skin felt sticky and moist and stung a little bit as the cool office air hit it. All around me were choruses of 'goodnight' and 'see you tomorrow, man' and 'later!' Scraping fatigue from my eyes I flicked off the monitor – not even bothering to save what I had been working on – and stood up, groaning as my knees creaked and protested.

"You gonna make it, Johnny?"

I looked across the isle and grinned at my cubicle partner, Andrew.

"No," I replied, gathering my beige coat from the back of my chair. "I'm fuckin' done for. Might as well just put a bullet though my head right now."

"Careful; I'll report you to social services," Andrew frowned but his eyes sparkled jokingly.

"Tell Jane I said 'hi,' okay?" I said to him, grabbing my keys from the desk and moving to lock the door. I snickered to myself as my friend's eyes glazed over dreamily.

"I tell you what, Johnny," he said, not for the first time. "I think she'd the one; I really do! She's just- " Andy made eye contact with me and grinned. "Damn!"

"I'm happy for you, man," I said plainly. "That's good."

"Hey, Johnny, why don't you come over sometime?" the young accountant asked, seeming to come back to the present. "Jane makes a fucktastic dinner- no other woman I know can cook like she does."

"Your mother can cook pretty damn well," I sneered sarcastically. Andy threw a pencil in my direction, laughing.

"Fuck off, man!" he snorted, rolling his eyes. "But seriously, if you ever wanna come over, we won't mind." I shook my head.

"Thanks for the invite, but Will gets pretty lonely if I'm not there to keep him company."

"Oh, I forgot, your lover back home," Andy chuckled. I chose to disregard the worn-out jibe.

"Goodnight, Andy," I said.

"Hey, see ya' Johnny!"

The black leather seats of my sedan were frigidly cold when I slid into the car, and I could almost feel my balls recoiling. Cursing the winter climate, I turned the vehicle on and flicked the heater to full-blast. As usual, only the vents in the back seat supplied any ounce of hot air. Thank God – if he existed – for seat warmers.

"Will, I'm home, I brought Chinese!" I shouted, smashing through the door of the apartment we shared. The plastic Tonka truck that had been blocking my entrance wheeled wildly out of sight down the hall, hit by the door, and I nearly tripped over a foam baseball bat left abandoned in my way.

"Fucking… kid…" I muttered, kicking it out of the way. "Will! Get Michael's shit picked up or I'll burn it!"

"Daddy, daddy! Johnny's home!" An eight-year-old boy wearing only Spongebob briefs came racing out of a doorway on the left side of the hall, curly blonde hair disheveled and going everywhere. I grimaced and placed the brown paper bag on the floor so that I could catch him when he jumped at me.

"Aren't you getting a little old for this?" I demanded, straining under his weight. Michael merely giggled and hugged my throat.

"I meant to get him dressed." I looked up at the sound of Will's voice and glared.

"Good job, fuck-tard," I muttered. "I can tell you tried so hard." Will shrugged. "Get the food; I'll meet you in the kitchen once I get _your kid _into clothes."

Michael and I went to his bedroom where he immediately demanded to be put down. I did as he asked and, shrieking gleefully, he sprinted to his fish tank. There was nothing alive in in; the goldfish Will had got him died after a few days. No one had remembered to feed it. Still, we felt bad telling Michael no so he now looked after little plastic fish with motors in their tails and fins. He treated them just the same; but he still forgot to feed them.

"Here," I suggested, offering the kid a pair of fleece pajama pants and a cotton t-shirt. "Put these on."

"Not those!" said Michael without even looking at me. "Gimme the Power Ranger ones!"

I bit my tongue hard and forcibly shoved the rejected pair back into the drawer and retrieved the red pajamas with Jason, Billy, and the rest of the gang printed on them for Michael.

"Here," I offered, dropping them beside the kid. "Happy now?" Michael turned brilliant blue eyes one me.

"Are you happy, Johnny?" He asked me this question everyday.

"I'm fine, Mikey," I replied, tapping my foot. "Just hungry." The kid grimaced, expression contorting into an unimaginable shape. I guess my answer confused him or something.

"Okay," he said finally. "But I don't want to wear Power Rangers anymore."

We ended up making it to the table fifteen minutes later. Will had already eaten half of what I'd bought, and he shrugged innocently as I shot him a withering look.

"Tough day at the office?" Will asked me in his gravelly, rasping smoker-voice as Michael padded in bare feet to him. Will lifted his son onto his lap so that he could better reach the table. I slumped in a chair across from them, throwing my jacket to the ground.

"Not particularly," said I, diverting my full attention to dinner. I took several spoonfuls of some strongly smelling chicken with water chestnuts mixed in and focused on eating: chew, taste, swallow, repeat (possibly omitting the taste step. It only complicated things). With luck I'd be able to keep it down tonight.

"Oh," said Will. I got the impression that that would have been his response regardless of my statement. "Tunny called today."

"Oh yeah? What'd he want?" I took another mouthful. _Keep on chugging, Johnny._

"He just wanted to know what was up. He hadn't heard from us in a while so he was just checking in." Will took a chopstick from Michael's hands.

"Ahh," I nodded. _Ladies and gentlemen, he just might make it!_

"He said the kids are doing fine and their oldest is just starting to-" _Not on my watch, assfuck!_

"Excuse me for a minute, Will," I said, pushing my chair back from the table, overcome by a horrible sensation of nausea. Will immediately stopped talking and glowered in understanding. Wrapping an arm around my midsection – as if it would help – I staggered to the bathroom, feeling a cold sweat breaking out across my forehead. I didn't even bother to close the door; kneeling by the toilet I let myself go. Up came the meager contents of my stomach, whole scraps of chicken and a lone solitary water chestnut floating in the porcelain depths of the john. What was that doing in there? I didn't even like water chestnuts.

When I was done I leaned back, shaking all over and coughing. One would think that after eight years of this anxiety vomiting I'd be used to it. I guess not. I leaned forward and flushed the bile down. Just another day in the life. I had a therapy session tomorrow; the shrink would be interested to know the hurling was back.


End file.
